The Diaries of Michael Avery
by Snood199
Summary: Michael Avery is that Death Eater that always seems to screw it up. But he's not a screwup, not really, he's a member of the Golden Year with James Potter and Sirius Black. What was life like for this young pureblood? R&R please, bad summary.
1. Introduction Through Age One

_Disclaimer: I do not own. Please remember to read and review._

I offer you my greetings, friend, whether you be giant, veela, hag, werewolf, goblin, Muggle, witch or fellow wizard. All of the aforementioned groups I have both helped and wronged as either a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or as a Death Eater in the service of the powerful Dark Lord. Do not shy away from my diary solely because you have seen those horrid words, friend. I am a faithful crusader neither for Lord Voldemort nor for the pure-blooded mania disguising his agenda. Many times I have sabotaged his works, hiding under the mask of incompetence. And many times have I paid for this in Crucios. I do not pretend to be a hero in the war against the Dark Lord. I am not Harry Potter, I am not Ronald Weasley, I am not Hermione Granger. Nor did I aid James Potter, nor Sirius Black, nor Remus Lupin. I am Michael Avery, and this is my story.

Before I was born, several possible courses of life were planned out for me. This is the way of life in pureblooded families; they must brainwash you and control you from the very start. A mere year before my life's beginning, the House of Avery was enjoying a moderate amount of power for a member of the Bronze Circle. We had not an iota of the power possessed by House Malfoy, or Potter, or even the French Pelletiers, but we were more than respectable. Weasleys we were not. However, around the time of my birth fortune shone down upon us. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, member of the Platinum Circle, needed an alliance. To have friends in the Platinum Circle was the subject of many clans' dreams. Wizarding Europe's Platinum Circle comprised the seven most powerful clans in all of Europe. Had I been born a female rather than a male, this would have been a perfect circumstance for both houses. I would have been the wife of Sirius Black, a pretty pureblood who would produce mini-Siriuses (God save us. As if the ladies of Hogwarts could ever take another heartbreaker the likes of Sirius Orion Black.) Sirius would have been some brainwashed blood fanatic with influence. Alas, that was not to be. I was born male, as was Sirius, so the idea of our possible marriage to bring our houses together was scrapped immediately. Our parents were forced to settle with the closest of friends.

At the age of one, I was introduced to Sirius. Apparently, we got along fairly well. Sirius was my closest friend during childhood, but he neither could nor would say the same for me. His closest friend throughout life was Potter. At this point in my tale, I must confess a lifelong envy for James Charlus Potter. He was everything I could ever have dreamed to be- powerful family, brilliant, great Quidditch player, very popular. Most of all, though, Potter was Sirius's best friend, and one I couldn't meet. The Potters, you see, did not wish to seek an alliance with House Avery. They considered it pointless. Thus, I was set up as a friend to Sirius, but he was set up as a friend to James, and others. I could not possibly know all of this at the age of one, but the events had already been set in motion for house alliances and all such things. Our families considered the children's friendships to be their greatest destiny. How wrong they were. For the entire generation with which we grew up, Destiny of a more important sort had come calling. We would be more.

_Don't worry, as Michael gets older and farther in his memories, the chapters will be longer. Age Two should be up shortly. Please read and review, even if you must flame it._

* * *

Return to Top 


	2. Age Two

_Disclaimer: I do not own._

_Here it is, Michael at age two. Enjoy, and happy Saturday!_

Having introduced you at least partially to myself and my earliest childhood, I will now take up my narrative at the age of two. Life was a series of playdates with Sirius and Evan Rosier, and I very rarely saw anyone else. At age two, however, that would change. Jean-Claude Baptiste Pelletier, leader of the most important family in wizarding France, was considering the possibility of alliance with House Black. Jean-Claude Baptiste had something like a great-grandson in Britain (Jean-Claude was almost as old as Dumbledore is now) and it was arranged that the younger son of this great-grandson was to meet Sirius and I while the great-grandson spoke to my father and Orion Black. In this way Sirius and I came to meet Lane Fletcher Pelletier. He was a year older than we were, and had this awful cunning to him that I grew to despise. Bound by the meddlesome practices of our elders, Sirius and I were forced to play with him. The Pelletier boy was the most obnoxiously bossy child I'd ever met (though admittedly I had met very few people at this age). We were amusing ourselves with some stupid game of the like all young wizards play. Lane, capable only of thinking in one direction, assumed he could control Sirius and I merely because he was older and bigger. Whatever it was Lane told him to do, Sirius and I both refused him. Sirius having spoken first, Lane began to attack Sirius, shoving him around in a childish fit of rage. Startled, Sirius was quickly backed up against the wall, and Lane was still hitting him. Suddenly, shockingly, Lane was twenty feet away from Sirius, hovering in midair. The adults, who had until this point been watching calmly, gave a great cheer for Sirius. The three of us children were given some small sweets and made to sit with our parents. Impressed at Sirius's apparent magical abilities, the Pelletier great-grandson was swayed to write home favorably to his patriarch about the Black-Pelletier alliance. Sirius, at the age of two, had helped craft one of the most powerful alliances in wizarding Europe.

After Sirius's ridiculously early first magic, we were still forced to see Lane again, much to our chagrin. The Pelletiers were sold on the capabilities of House Black's young scion, but I was not helping their decision on House Avery. It was not to be cemented this year. House Pelletier was busy also with Charlus Potter. The Potter boy's first playdate with Lane Pelletier had gone much differently at first than Sirius's, but Lane's bothersomeness had eventually produced the same result. Potter was eleven months older than Sirius, and thus had been as large as Lane Pelletier at the time of the playdate (I think it was around eleven months prior to Sirius's meeting of Lane. I have not heard the specifics, but something has ever since floated around regarding the turning of Lane into a lemur.

For my family, my life at the age of two had not gone well or poorly. I had not done the miracle work Sirius had and sealed an alliance. However, I had not embarrassed my family, either, so there was still hope. I had passed the appropriate milestones of a young wizard of age three by my third birthday. I was advanced, however slightly, and my family began to expect more of me. All in due time, of course, they would get it.

_ Read and review, please??? Thanks. Will Try to update each Saturday._


	3. Age Three

_Age three... R&R, please. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the elements you see in this story. JKR owns them, though I think I speak for everyone saying I'd like to own Sirius._

I cannot tell you how many times in my life I have looked back and wished I could return to the age of three. We were just beginning to understand snippets of the world around us, just enough to add that important feeling to our stomachs, but not nearly enough to take our innocence away or leave us jaded with life. We didn't understand real sadness quite yet, and didn't have to deal with trickery or popularity contests. Several of my early life's more important moments came at the age of three.

First among these events, Sirius's brother was christened. Regulus had been born early, forcing him to spend the first two years of his life in St. Mungo's, recovering. Normally, an early birth was no problem to the highly trained healers there, but Regulus had been a difficult case. He came down with the dragon pox at four months, shortly before being scheduled for release, and been fighting that and other various Muggle and Magic ailments since. Luckily, he was finally fully well again shortly before Sirius's third birthday. In honor of their healthy, strong firstborn, Orion and Walburga Black suspended Regulus's long-overdue christening until well after Sirius's August 20th birthday. Thus a beautiful October morning found dozens of important purebloods in church waiting to watch a two-year-old be christened. I was in the silent section of the church- a closed-off, soundproof room used for young children. Sirius, being brother to the christened, was sitting in the middle, basking in the attention. I sat at his left, Potter at his right, and Evan Rosier sat to my left. Lane Fletcher Pelletier was sitting behind us, being watched over by his nine-year-old brother, Adrien Brady Pelletier. I don't believe any group of young boys in our position would have paid any attention whatsoever to the ceremonies- hell, that's why we were in the soundproof room. So instead of listening to all of the typical pureblood waffle, we listened to Adrien talk. We had started to look up to him, in those days; Adrien flew quite well, was highly intelligent, and of course had the haughty pureblood attitude. Today, Adrien had a special story for us. He'd just gotten an owl from Athena Franco, his cousin on his mother's side. Athena was a first-year at Hogwarts, and had written to Adrien all about things the different teachers could do. Adrien related awesomely his cousin's tales about the teacher who turned into a cat, and another who had made a tea cozy dance. When Adrien finished one story, we would beg and clamor for the next, and we spent the entire day hearing secondhand tales of Hogwarts. At the ceremony's end, none of us wanted to leave, for we wanted to hear more of Adrien's wonderful stories; from that day forth we all shared a strong desire to attend Hogwarts.

Several months after my infatuation with Hogwarts, I had been scheduled for a routine playdate with Mr. Evan Rosier. Generally, our playdates started off by arguing and fighting each other over our roles in the typical, classless pureblood children's game Muggles and Death Eaters. Nine times out of ten, I would manage to easily beat the crap out of Evan, and assume the preferred role of the Death Eater. This time, however, I was rather tired out from having been kept up late the night before- my parents had been out to see a concert (the Blue Hippogriffs, I believe) and had left me with the house-elf. Being a properly haughty young pureblood, I had refused to listen to the elf's persistent demands that I go to sleep before my parents were home. Needless to say, they were fairly angry when they got home, and the house-elf shut its fingers in the oven. Still, this incident made me tired and thus more weak than I would usually be for my playdate with Evan. We had gotten into the role debate with our usual gusto, resulting in a customary wrestling match. For once, Evan had managed to get me pinned to the floor. As I writhed beneath his now-steely grip, I became increasingly infuriated and grew closer and closer to a childish tantrum. Suddenly, I saw a flash of light and heard Evan yelp. His weight was off of me; I clambered to by toddling feet and stared, wide-eyed, at Evan. He was lying on his back, and appeared to have had the wind knocked out of him. I pointed at him, laughed, and told him I would be the Death Eater, so he'd better prepare to die, the stupid Muggle. Our parents had rushed in from the parlor to see the commotion, and the Rosiers immediately congratulated my mother and father on my relatively early first magic (I was about three months shy of turning four, and the average age is somewhere around 5-7). I was told I was a good boy, to keep playing, and to, in effect, press my advantage over Evan, now thoroughly frightened of me.

Within the hour of my first magic, my father had managed to write Orion Black, asking him to put in a good word with the Pelletier man in England. One week later, great-grandson Pelletier had gotten word from his patriarch: the alliance with House Avery was cordially accepted. I could not have known the repercussions of this at three, but I will suffice it to say that it aided greatly the fortunes of my family. My mother and father were both delighted with me, and Orion Black made sure all of the high-class society was lined up to congratulate my parents on their son's first magic. For my parents, and their friends in the pureblooded world, my life at age three had gone exceedingly well. My stage was set, then, for entry to age four.

_There you have it, age three. Michael's first-ever magical outburst. Review, please, and I'll have the next chapter up in a week._


	4. Age Four

_Disclaimer: I do not own._

_Author's note: Michael's a bit of a spectator this year, and will be for the next chapter, too, but these two chapters are still very important to both his development and that of his peers._

The age of four was, for me, the year I spent as a spectator to those around me. I didn't have any more accidental magic outbreaks, I wasn't taught how to fly, I didn't make new friends, I didn't seal new alliances for my family, and I didn't get any closer to being Sirius's best friend. For all personal intents and purposes, the year was a damned bore. But people don't live in a bubble, with only themselves to interact with. Those around me managed to make a great deal more progress than I ever did that year.

From November of the year I was four, I can remember quite clearly the version of the annual gathering to celebrate the birthday of Adrien Brady Pelletier (he was now eleven, and would go off to Hogwarts next year). The Pelletiers had booked fairly prominent French wizard rockers, with whom Adrien was delighted. He was seen to share a dance with Sirius's eldest cousin, Andromeda Black, two years Adrien's junior, along with two or three other pureblood girls that would be going to Beauxbatons. I was off with more than the usual crew there; Evan's family had not been invited, but forsaken for several Europeans. I stuck close to Sirius, tolerating Potter and Lane, and we did our utmost to be polite to the boys with the funny accents and fluid names. At our table of eight, Sirius was seated at the head of the table, and Potter to his right. As usual, I was seated to Sirius's left, leaving me, unpleasantly, across from Potter. The one good thing to be said for this arrangement was that Potter was in the unenviable position of sitting next to Lane. The European boy sitting at the foot of the table was a third cousin of Lane's, by the name of Juneau Baptiste Pelletier, who was the youngest scion of House Pelletier (Lane, not being descended from the eldest sons, and not being one himself, was not in line for any sort of power in his family; he was just another powerless rich boy). Juneau Baptiste was nine years old, and his family had begun to teach him magic. His entourage was scared stiff of him; to his immediate right was Jacques LaFleur, age three, and Raul Franco, age five, something like Juneau's third cousin twice removed (Lane's mother was Raul's aunt). At his left was Davide de Joffre, age seven, heir to a clan of similar stature to mine. Davide made a rude comment to Lane, sitting next to him, and Juneau would have none of it.  
"Watch how you talk to 'im, de Joffre," Juneau snapped through a thick French accent. "'e is of my house, of my family, and I will not tolerate ze desecration of my cousin, 'owever unimportant 'e may be." Davide scowled at Juneau- big mistake. Juneau attempted some stupid hex on him with his trainer wand; the flying sparks were enough to make Davide cower. Adrien swung by to see what the commotion was about, and began laying into his brother.  
"Lane, are you a bloody idiot? You don't insult a guest, never. Juneau," he turned to his cousin, "I apologize for the idiocy of my brother. He will not again offend a member of your party." Juneau nodded, and apologized to Adrien for Davide's insults to Lane. Adrien slapped his brother lightly and turned to leave. He stopped in his tracks, just then; evidently he could tell something had happened. Several of us began to laugh at him, then, and he spun around quickly and whipped out a small mirror. Glancing at his now-blue hair, Adrien grinned, said, "Thanks for the birthday present, little brother," shoved his brother playfully, and left. Lane's jaw dropped open; it was unthinkably humiliating to perform your first accidental magic during your older brother's birthday celebration. Still, his magic shouldn't have much mattered to the world; he was five, which was not nearly a prodigy but not quite normal, either, and his great-grandfather was the third son of the family patriarch. To high-class society in general, Lane was nothing but another prettyboy whose grandparents came over from France.

Several months later, my life, and those of my friends, were seemingly revolving around Adrien's. At four, it was not for me to know the strategies behind this maneuver; I was merely glad to be in his presence, as we all were. This arrangement, of course, was made by our families, who figured that Adrien, in his first few years at Hogwarts, would be able to teach us vital elements of life at Hogwarts. Our families wanted us to have distinction, good grades, and badges at Hogwarts; the hope was that Adrien could tell us which teachers were best sucked-up to, which behaviors led to Quidditch, Prefect, and Head badges, and what would make us heroes in our common rooms. We watched Adrien play Headhunt with the Malfoy boy, who was just learning to fly. It would be four more years before we ourselves were allowed to fly, so our parents decided we should be 'saturated with Wizarding culture' before then. It worked very well; within a week Adrien was helping us sneak out with brooms to knock each other off our brooms. Adrien, having a good deal of sense, had managed to get a house-elf to charm our brooms not to go above ten feet, but we still had a great time of it. Sometimes, Adrien split us into even teams, and we'd play with to the last team with a flier. Other times, he'd just tell us to have a free-for-all, and the last man on the broom won. I could outfly Evan or Lane or even the Malfoy boy rather easily (he was always a ghastly flier). However, I rarely could unseat Potter, and I never could knock Sirius off his broom, though he often did so to me. Eventually, Adrien had taught all six of his protégés the barrel roll maneuver, and he had taught Sirius, Potter and I a Starfish-with-Stick, behind the threat of being flayed to within an inch of our lives should we ever attempt the Starfish-without-Stick. Unbeknownst to our parents, we were already learning more about the magical world from Adrien than we would ever again learn from them.

My life at age four was a pack of maneuvering done by my parents to accommodate the changes around me. Lane's first magic had been amusing, granted, but relatively unimportant. Adrien's teachings, however… they had been extremely important. He had insured that Potter, Sirius, and I would be foremost among our year's fliers in Headhunt and probably Quidditch too. But Adrien had the unintended effect of separating us from our parents, and letting us see the seductive choices our family didn't want. I honestly believe Adrien's actions in teaching us behind our parents' backs pushed Sirius farther down the path away from his family. At four years old, though, none of us cared. We were flying, and it was fun, and Adrien was our hero.

_Hope you enjoyed, read and review please._

_Oh, I see the character of Adrien Brady Pelletier as a sort of prototype for Sirius. When Adrien gets to Hogwarts, and when Michael does, there will be more of that._


	5. Age Five

_Disclaimer: I do not own. R&R please._

Age five was a most peculiar time in my young life. I was encountering rebellion in more ways than one, and it was coming in from everybody around it in every which way. Sirius deviated, Adrien flipped, my mother pressured my father for supporting a bastard… and I was still too young to see most of the importance in the actions of those around me. Given a choice, I would never, ever return to being five years old. I can see it so much more clearly now, see everything- and it makes it all so much worse.

It was a mere week after Sirius had turned five, and we had been scheduled for a routine playdate at his house. My parents dropped me off and left, as there would be no possibility of either of us having their first magical outburst. I was greeted by Orion and Walburga Black, as usual; I smiled a cutesy child's beam at them. Sirius and I proceeded upstairs, and kicked Regulus fully out of the East Wing; Sirius's brother, now almost four, annoyed the hell out of us. He admired Sirius like the rest of us revered Adrien, only that Adrien enjoyed the attention.  
"So, Michael, what should we do- Muggles and Death Eaters?" I could remember Sirius asking me.  
"Fine by me," I'd said, just to please him. I knew full well he would beat the crap out of me, and then be able to take on whichever role he wanted to. If I didn't comply, though, he'd beat the shit out of me and we'd play Muggles and Death Eaters anyway. So I took a swing at him, starting our typical fight as to which would choose roles. It caught him on the jaw, but he bounced back easily, laughing, and pounced on me. I did my worst to hit him, flailing blindly and rarely connecting with his side or head. Sirius did the sensible thing, and sat on my chest, digging his knees deep and pummeling my head and shoulders with both fists.  
"Merlin!" I cried out. "Merlin, Sirius, that's enough, you choose!" He got off me and I sat up, spitting blood into his trash bin.  
"Ok… I'll be the Muggles, Michael." Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just showed off his considerable pugilistic merits. I froze, convinced he'd boxed my ears so hard I was hearing things. I must have paused for ages, because he continued, "Erm, Michael, you're supposed to go all violent on me now- act like you know hexes, curses, you know the drill, even if you've never been able to be the Death Eater before." I kept staring blankly at him.  
"Sirius," I began, "that's just unnatural. Nobody wants to be a Muggle, hell, mudbloods are bad enough."  
"Adrien told me 'mudblood' was a bad word, and we shouldn't say it. He told me people who did were arrogant little inbred snakes."  
"What does that mean?" I asked him, puzzled.  
"No idea, but if you'd heard the way Adrien spoke, you'd get it, too," he said confidently.  
"But they are mudbloods. They've got filthy, impure Muggle blood in them. They probably bleed poop." In my youth, I was known for having an understanding of Muggles vastly inferior to my imagination.  
"Keep a secret, Mike?" I nodded yes. In a whisper, he confided, "In a park once- I talked to a real live Muggle! And it wasn't stupid, or clumsy, or anything. It was just… just like us."  
I was horrified. "Sirius!" I hissed. "Are you crazy? They're nothing! Everyone says they're nothing!"  
"Adrien doesn't agree. His family doesn't either. And James Potter says his family doesn't care one way or another what Muggles and Muggle-borns do with themselves." Sirius sat back, crossing his arms. On a childish impulse, I stuck my tongue out at him, and we fell back into another wrestling match.  
Eventually, my parents picked me up from Sirius's house, and even then I knew that if I should ever repeat to his family any of Sirius's words to me, he would be in an obscene amount of trouble. I was thrilled with being trusted enough to talk to Sirius, and having a few minutes he wasn't beating the crap out of me. Because of this, the idea of breaking his confidence, of tattle-taling, never really occurred to me.

Christmas when I was young was a joyous occasion. In the Wizarding world, children find out very quickly that Santa Claus does not really exist, but the magical aura surrounding him is replaced by other customs. During the month of December, leading all the way to the New Year, pureblooded society is filled with important tea parties, balls, soirees, and magnificent Christmas Galas. Cracking open my memory's calendar for the age of five, I can remember distinctly many of these events. The season was, as per usual, opened with the Blacks' Advent Ball, on the evening of December 1st. This was traditional fare, as all seven Platinum Circle families would claim the best calendar dates for their social events. We children, under school age, would be herded up into the East Wing every year to play together and roast chestnuts. But the Blacks' Advent Ball was not the most important party of that season for my circle and I. The Potters held an annual Christmas Gala, beginning at six o'clock sharp on Christmas night and not ending until the wee hours of the morning. Here, anyone under thirteen was sent away into a certain wing of the Potters' mansion, to bond and engage in childlike activities. That year, I was behaving as I usually did, following Sirius around and fawning over Adrien, for whom it was the last year in the children's wing. Evan was there, as was Potter, and Lane Pelletier. Lucius Malfoy's stench was permeating the house, flanked as he was by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two of the dumbest men I have ever met. It had always astounded me how they even got in at the Potters'; neither of their families was well-regarded or powerful, and they seemed to function solely to bodyguard Malfoys. Sirius's cousins Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Andromeda were in attendance, arriving with the Lestrange boys, Rabastan and Rodolphus, and Frank Longbottom, a boy who would become a Gryffindor in my year, managed to get on the wrong side of Rodolphus in a hurry. But that small squabble, in which Longbottom was aided by the noble Thomas Bones, also of our year, was to take a backseat to a fit of rage Adrien went into with Lucius Malfoy. We had been playing a childish game, as we did every year. Adrien, who was by a strange twist the only child in school not at the gala, had naturally assumed the role of King Wizard in the game.  
"Malfoy," he commanded, "fetch me some roasted chestnuts, would you?"  
"What sort of wizard are you?" Malfoy sneered. "A true wizard king would just force a Mudblood to do it."  
"Don't use that word with me, Malfoy," Adrien returned coldly. "It's a disgusting word, unfit for use even by your unclean mouth."  
"Oh, that's right," Malfoy shot back. "Master Adrien is in love with a little Mudblood. They go about Hogwarts holding hands like cute little cherubs, so I've heard. You disgrace society- blood traitor!"  
Adrien rose up from the soft grey recliner that had been his pseudo-throne. Drawing his wand and stalking over aggressively, he growled, "Take it back, you stupid git. Don't act all noble on me, Malfoy."  
"Go to hell," Malfoy spat. Adrien, knocking aside Crabbe and Goyle as if they were feathers, grabbed Malfoy by the collar and slammed him against the wall, wand pointed at his neck.  
Malfoy looked down at Adrien's left hand, entangled in his dress robes, and the right hand, holding the menacing wand. I realize that first years in this day and age can do little more than send sparks at each other, but my childhood was prior to this, when over half of the yearly admissions to Hogwarts were pureblooded, and most of the rest half-bloods. During my childhood, it was considered pathetic for a pureblooded family to send their child to school without some basic magical skills. Adrien was not, of course, capable of killing Malfoy with the Avada Kedavra. He was, however, capable of using a basic spell, such as the Wingardium Leviosa, to hurt him (Sirius's favorite method of dueling during his first year at Hogwarts was to levitate either a suit of armor or Peeves at your head).  
"No blood traitor can pain a pureblood with magic," Malfoy drawled.  
"I won't, then," Adrien snarled, hurling Malfoy to the ground. "I'll hurt you like the Muggles you hate so much," he said savagely, punctuating each word with a kick to Malfoy's side. He then violently picked Malfoy up and flung him bodily from the room, bellowing, "BLOODY BASTARD!" after him.  
The rest of the room had gone quiet, and we all stepped slightly away from him. Nobody had ever seen Adrien Brady Pelletier that angry- hell, none of us had ever seen anyone other than a few adults that angry. After a long pause, he finally snapped, "What? Go back to your damn conversations," prompting all of the children in the room to return, eventually, to a forced normalcy.

It was several months after this incident when my ears were first darkened by the name of Lord Voldemort. At this point, fifteen years prior to his original downfall, Voldemort was not a name people lived in fear of. He had begun his ascent to power by this point, of course, but would not come into his own as the most powerful and feared dark wizard in Britain until my school days. It was a typical night; the house-elf had fed us dinner, a beautiful roast pork with mashed potatoes, and I had gone upstairs while my mother and father had their nightly after-dinner cocktail. Strangely enough, I heard voices that night- and not normal ones, either, but loud, angry, and shouting voices. I crept down the stairs and through the halls until I stood just outside of the door to the parlor, where my parents took their cocktails.  
"I will not have that madman influencing my son!" my mother was yelling.  
"He's not a madman, Irma! He's a bloody genius! Lord Voldemort has the best ideas for purebloods everywhere. I've known him since school, Irma- he's the smartest, most powerful wizard I've ever met, maybe greater than the Muggle-lover Dumbledore. Lord Voldemort will never falter- he will rise to power, eliminate his foes, and install a new world order complete with purebloods at the top, and mudbloods licking the very streets on which we walk!" my father's frantic voice was working hard to assuage my mother's fears of Voldemort.  
"Fenton, I will not have it. You know full well I despise mudbloods and other such riffraff, but this Dark Lord has gone too far. I cannot consent to be ruled by one man- nor can I consent to one man having power over my son's worldview and future, when that man is a butcher."  
"Irma, resistance is futile, and Lord Voldemort will reward his supporters… his dream is right, his ideals perfect, his cause strong, and the rewards will be great. I will aid Lord Voldemort to wipe mudbloods and blood traitors from the face of the earth, as will Michael if the task is unfinished by his manhood." At the sound of my name, I gave a start, knocking over a candle in the hallway.  
"Did you… hear something?" my mother said.  
"I'm not entirely sure… check the hallway, Irma, will you?" my father replied. I nearly froze from fear. Quickly, I scampered back to my room, and could distantly hear my mother assuring my father that there was nothing in the corridor. I was left to ponder this- my parents never fought, never raised their voices to each other, and never talked about mudbloods. Apparently, though, this Lord Voldemort was a different case, as I would later find out was all too common with him.

At the age of five I went through a tremendous period of mental upheaval. Prior to that, I had been raised with four tenets of belief. First, purebloods were far and away superior to half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Secondly, the pureblood world was all about status, and purity was the key to status. Thirdly, you were mentored by or looked up to another magical child of your own gender whose family was of equal or better status to yours, no matter who they may be, until you reached adulthood. Fourth, the highest-status child of your age and gender was the leader of your entourage, and he or she was always the one to lead the anti-Muggle charge. Adrien's beliefs had managed to challenge all of these tenets. He'd introduced all of us to equality, to the idea that Muggle lives were just as worthy as anyone else's. This was an idea that was moderately developed in his family, which shocked me- the notion of a Platinum Circle family speaking of half-blood acceptance was bizarre. Lucius Malfoy's treatment of Adrien upon learning his beliefs defied the third tenet- Lucius was looking like an ungrateful git, mouthing off at his mentor/peer, who had taught him flying and spells. And when Adrien's ideas had leaked to Sirius, and, as I would find out, to Potter, it was found out that our group's ringleaders were not Muggle-haters, but rather like the Muggle-loving fools my parents spoke about so spitefully. This was a serious departure from the status quo, and would foreshadow the coming war, but I did not know that at five. At five, I knew that, quite suddenly, things made no sense anymore.

_Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are highly, highly welcome (hint hint). And go Adrien, kick that blond Death-Eater-to-be._


End file.
